


a place beyond pain

by triangularium



Category: Haikyuu!!, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Skating, Angst, Developing Relationship, Homophobia, M/M, figure-skating dorks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 23:47:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11279298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triangularium/pseuds/triangularium
Summary: In a different timeline in which the characters ofHaikyuu!!choose to pursue competitive figure skating instead of team-oriented volleyball, Oikawa Tooru struggles to come to terms with the limits of his abilities, the meaning of natural talent, and his increasingly fuzzy sexuality.For a long time, attending the Japanese Nationals as a favorite to win is a faraway pipe dream. Then, the prospect of international representation becomes all too real.All dreams start small.





	a place beyond pain

"Even chance meetings are the result of karma."

\- Haruki Murakami ( _Kafka on the Shore_ )

 

Oikawa Tooru is five when he first finds the ice.

 

He’s bored and his parents are out, leaving his older sister Airi to babysit him. Or, at least, she’s _supposed_ to be taking care of him. She seems to be paying more attention to her cell phone while sprawled across the living room sofa in an effortlessly graceful way, although her chin is digging into one of the throw pillows in a posture that should be uncomfortable. She doesn’t notice, wiggling slightly to adjust her position as a small smile plays across her face.

 

She’s texting her boyfriend.

 

Oikawa thinks this is the perfect time to escape. They’ve just moved to a new city, and whenever his mom and dad are around, they micromanage and hover, ensuring that they know where he is at all times so that he doesn’t get lost. There’s a good reason for that, but Oikawa doesn’t really regard it as all that important, somewhere in his childishly self-centered brain. Their house in Sendai is a secluded cul-de-sac in the middle of a quiet neighborhood, so he doesn’t see the harm if he gets out and explores his world for the time being.

 

The air outside is heavy and sweet with the taste of a receding summer. School will be starting soon, and with it, homework. Oikawa sticks his tongue out in distaste. If only he had something more fun to look forward to...

 

He stops suddenly, out of the stiflingly warm rays of the sun and in the shade for the first time since he started walking. He’s under the eaves of a large building. The street outside is empty, the only sound that of a ticking clock, time passing sluggishly as if it too were slowed down by the heat. He glances up and has to tip his head back to read the sign.

 

Aoba Castle.

 

_What? A palace in the middle of a city? It doesn’t look as cool as castles should, he muses dubiously. Also, where’s the princess?_

 

His subconscious responds with what is essentially a mental shrug. He decides to go inside; at least that’ll be a temporary respite from the unforgiving weather outside. _There’s probably an air conditioner, which is a plus, and it’ll take longer for Airi to find me here_ , he reasons spitefully. _That’s for ignoring me and giving me your old Barbie dolls to keep me busy._ (He doesn’t admit this to himself: he would have enjoyed the toys in any other situation, but he’s been faced with them far too many times and run out of stories to create.)

 

He pushes the door open decisively, and a blast of chilly air immediately engulfs him in an embrace that is oddly familiar. He stands there for a moment, breathing the cold in and out, forging it into something hard and icy and part of his frail, comparatively undeveloped body.

 

Then, he opens his eyes.

 

It’s an ice rink, and it’s empty. The reception that dispenses skates is deserted, but there’s a light on in the back and audible humming.

 

Signs of life.

 

Oikawa’s curiosity gets the best of him, and he edges closer tentatively, observing the gleaming blades and wondering how people manage to balance on the thin metal. He’s watched the Olympics figure skating event once -- albeit absently -- when Airi had been flicking through channels some winters ago, and all he remembers is the pixellated image of a woman mid-spin as she contorted her body until she could grab the ankle of her extended leg with her arm. It looks hard.

 

That’s just his kind of thing.

 

An older man with close-cropped black hair emerges, holding a box of trophies. He appears distracted as he sets the load down but his eyes widen as he realizes he’s not alone.

 

“Oh! Hello, there!” He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Welcome to Aoba Castle!” And then, with palpable concern, “Are you alone or are your parents with you?”

 

Oikawa blinks, mind racing to dredge up a possible excuse. An instinct tells him that if he confesses that his parents have no idea that he’s here, he’ll be politely moved to a separate office and watched over until they come to pick him up. This is exactly what he’s trying to avoid.

 

He smiles widely with the angelic (or demonic, depending on who was asked) charm of a little kid and slurs his words, hoping his affectation will make him sound innocent and guileless.

 

“My name’s Oikawa Tooru,” he lets his eyes squint adorably. “Mom and Dad have work outside, so they let me come in instead.”

 

_Well, it’s not all a lie._

 

The man, presumably an employee of the rink, has surprise etched into his expression. Maybe he’s not used to random children showing up without guardians, but the faces Oikawa has pulled were enough to convince him of the story’s veracity.

 

“I’m Head Coach Irihata,” he introduces himself. “Would you like to skate for a bit before your family comes back?”

 

“Yes!” he cheers. Anything to temporarily stay away from his dull one-story house and his distracted sibling.

 

Irihata’s lips twitch upward at the enthusiasm and he retreats to another room for a few minutes before returning and cracking open a door at the side of the counter.

 

“I had to find some your size,” he explains as he places a couple of shoe pairs on the ground. “Try them on.” He nods to a bench Oikawa hadn’t seen when he’d first entered.

 

“Um,” he stares down at the complicated loops and knots. “I can’t tie these.”

 

“Ah! You haven’t skated before!”

 

Irihata kneels down in front of him and laces him up, Oikawa -- with uncharacteristic concentration -- observing his movements the entire time, committing them to memory. He already knows he’s going to come back here.

 

“There,” he pats his knee comfortingly before moving away. “It’ll be hard to balance at first, but you’ll get used to it with practice.”

 

Oikawa grabs the safety handles near him, struggling to stand and wobbling like a newborn deer. Irihata reaches to steady him, but Oikawa refuses his arm petulantly, plodding over to the edge of the ice with herculean effort. The coach raises his eyebrow but surveys his progress thoughtfully.

 

 _I’m going to dance and jump and fly_ , he promises himself, left leg poised above the slippery floor. _How hard can this possibly be?_

 

Five-year-old Oikawa takes one small step for child (one giant leap in his head) onto the frozen water, and learns how to fall.

 

 

 

*

 

He kept falling continuously for the next fifteen minutes, but by the end of an hour, Oikawa can glide passably by holding onto the railings attached to the walls. He shivers, and almost sends his legs flailing again with the unexpected movement.

 

It’s cold here, even with his full-sleeved shirt. He resolves to find more appropriate clothing next time.

 

His eyes flick up to the opening that he’d unceremoniously passed through to enter this universe of white. Irihata-san is eyeing him like a hawk, but strangely, the surveillance gives him a sense of protection rather than embarrassing him. He’s more happy that nobody his age is here to see him fail miserably in the beginning and ridicule him before he can make his first friend.

 

Oikawa swallows.

 

It’s ice. Hard, stiff, trustworthy ice. It’s not going to crack, leaving him to plummet into the center of the Earth or an ocean where he’ll be eaten alive by sharks. He forcibly releases the tension in his shoulders and the hard grip on the bar that had whitened his knuckles.

 

Then, he lets go.

 

What was that move he’d seen on TV again?

 

He twirls experimentally, a burst of pride bubbling inside him as he rotates fully and loses himself in adventures and reveries. He discovers methods of staying upright by maximizing his mobility and using his torso and arms, and notes that he revolves faster when he tucks his limbs in, slowing down by doing the opposite.

 

He crashes, again and again and again, and he laughs. Prospective bruises aren’t enough to hold him back, now that he knows the euphoria of success and overcoming obstacles.

 

When he stares at the clock (two and a half hours since he first came in) after a particularly nasty tumble, wincing, he rubs his eyes and flinches for a completely different reason. Irihata-san is nowhere in sight, so he limps and drags his way over to the entrance, simultaneously composing a tale to get him out of trouble and shift the blame to Airi nee-san.

 

Unfortunately, as he’s about to creep towards the table to abandon the skates and leave, he walks straight into a serious-looking conversation between Irihata and a very disheveled Airi. Her brown locks -- so similar to his own -- form a chaotic mess around her head, and hazel eyes narrow slightly as she spots him. She must have been running around frantically, harried and worried. Oikawa finds a guilty sensation slithering into his thoughts.

 

_Caught._

 

The disapproving countenance of his sister’s face is mirrored on Irihata’s and both are folding their arms angrily. Oikawa feels like he’s being doubly judged and curves in on himself, trying to appear smaller and more helpless.

 

Airi stalks over to the glass doors without a word and opens one, gesturing out.

 

“Come on, Tooru-chan. We’re going home.”

 

 

 

*

 

He’s sent up to bed early, but other than that, no punishment seems forthcoming. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Oikawa trudges to his room and buries himself under his alien-printed blankets.

 

The voices that escalate into shouts reach him anyway.

 

“I’m telling you that’s what the coach said, Dad! Tooru has a lot of potential and this can end up helping him attain it!”

 

“I won’t have a son of mine playing such a useless sport! He needs to learn how to be a man. Ice skating --,” the sound of spit hitting the sink, “-- is full of _gays_!”

 

Now, quieter.

 

“I won’t spend my money on those idiotic shoes and costumes and lessons.”

 

“You won’t have to.”

 

Steely. Mom, who’d been silent up to this point.

 

Oikawa frowns. He doesn’t know why they’re yelling about him or what exactly is wrong with wanting to skate more. He thinks it’s interesting. More interesting than being cooped up amongst piles of labeled boxes that have yet to be unpacked, certainly.

 

He drifts off and dreams of someone gently stroking the tufts of his hair that stick out no matter how hard he tries to flatten them. The feeling disappears and is replaced by a tower that pierces the clouds. Oikawa peers down through the only window, but can’t find an easy way down. There’s something heavy on his head, sliding onto his eyebrows. He takes it off.

 

A crown.

 

Then, he’s on the ledge and tipping off. The wind rushes past his ears, and he’s more afraid than he’s ever been, because surely colliding with the ground is going to hurt --

 

And he’s flying, up, up, and away, into a dark night sky and stars that are pinpricks seared into the back of his eyelids.

 

 

 

*

 

He forgets for a week. Then, two. Chores seem to pile up with a vengeance, and his dad takes him to the library, a forced smile on his face the whole time. He lugs a bag of books onto his bed and gazes fixedly at pictures of spaceships and galaxies.

 

On a Tuesday, Airi slams open the door to his room and refuses to leave until he lifts his head from his paper sanctuary.

 

“Okay,” she sighs, but she sounds determined. “We’re going out.”

 

“Where?”

 

He gets his answer soon enough, but he only gets the chance to glimpse the fancy curlicues that form the letters of “Aoba Castle” for a few seconds before he’s dragged inside by the juggernaut force Airi’s applying on his upper arm.

 

“He’s here, Mizoguchi-san!”

 

A stern, blond man with his hands in his pockets jerks, apparently stunned, before this smooths into impassivity.

 

“He’s late,” he states brusquely. “The others are already here.”

 

 _“Others”? What “others”? What’s going on?_ Oikawa wonders helplessly as he’s pulled along and made to sit on the same bench from previously. He puts another set of rental skates on in auto-pilot mode. He’s floating somewhere outside his body, and is rudely pulled back by Mizoguchi-san’s next words.

 

“He’ll need his own set of skates if he’s going to continue here.”

 

“He’ll have them by next week.”

 

Airi turns to him, fingers running down his cheek and lingering at his neck, a reserved farewell. Oikawa has many questions and he opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

 

“Good luck, Tooru.”

 

Mizoguchi clears his throat impatiently, but is careful while urging Oikawa to get onto the ice, supporting him when he feels as though he’s going to slip again. Then, the coach sails across by himself, visibly loosening up and letting go of some unnameable weight that had hunched his shoulders when his body was limited by friction. Oikawa stares after him with no small amount of envy, only to become aware that several boys around him are doing the same thing.

 

“Hi!” One with pink-brown hair and friendly eyes approaches him first. “I’m Hanamaki Takahiro! What’s your name?”

 

“Oikawa Tooru,” Oikawa replies, classifying his peer as “Makki” in his head and resolving to use the diminutive from now on. It's cuter and easier to remember.

 

The rest surround him and what follows is a flurry of introductions.

 

Matsukawa (“Call me Mattsun”), Kunimi, Kindaichi, Yahaba, Watari, and a recalcitant, reticent, and vaguely scary kid named Kyotani who growls under his breath.

 

 _Mad dog_ , Oikawa dubs him, watching him warily from the corner of his eye.

 

“What’s his name?” he asks, pointing to a boy with spiky hair and what seems like a perpetual scowl on his face who’s more experienced than the rest of them, more confident in his trajectory on the ice.

 

“That’s Iwaizumi Hajime,” Makki says. “It’s his first class but he’s been skating longest so he can do cooler spins and moves!” He sounds excited.

 

Deciding that they’ve had time to acclimate, Mizoguchi-sensei claps his hands twice, calling them to attention. Iwaizumi comes to a complete stop. Everyone stops chatting.

 

“Welcome to Beginners Level 1 for male singles at the Aoba Johsai Figure Skating Club!” He shifts a little, totally at ease and even anticipatory. “I’m your teacher. You can call me Mizoguchi-sensei. Today’s lesson will be about planned falls.”

 

Oikawa gulps at the ominous statement. The only person who looks remotely all right with this agenda is Iwaizumi, whose expression doesn’t change at all. At this, Oikawa tilts his head, calculating.

 

Who exactly is Iwaizumi Hajime?

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that's the preface to the beginning of Oikawa's long, decorated skating career (we all know he'd be good at anything he put his mind to, even if it isn't very similar to volleyball). This is probably going to be pretty long, so hang on tight :) and wish me luck -- I've never written any multi-chapter fics before.
> 
> If you have any constructive criticism / questions / things that you noticed and want to talk about, please comment below! This will probably be updated weekly if there's enough interest and I need fanart of figure-skating baby Oikawa haha. :D
> 
> More tags will be added with recent updates.


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